


50 Shades of Grey Redux

by transcarib



Category: Fifty Shades of Grey (2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-01-03 08:01:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21176081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transcarib/pseuds/transcarib
Summary: In his weekly phone call, Ana tells Christian she won’t be able to see him this weekend, because during their previous scene he had gone too far, leaving heavy bruises on her body.  Christian is stunned that he unknowingly did so, and deeply upset entreats Ana to come to him – not for sex -- but so he can reassure her it was an accident.Unknown to him, however, is Ana's decision to end their relationship, despite being in love with him. The aftermath of the previous weekend's scene has convinced her she can never meet Christian's needs as a partner. She reluctantly agrees to see him though, realizing that when she does, she'll have to tell him it's over.The end of their call finds Christian questioning himself, terrified that when he sees Ana she’ll tell him she’s had enough and it’s over between them. The thought of not being with her engulfs him with a spiraling apprehension. He pulls himself together and heads out for an early evening run, knowing it will bring some calm to his foreboding anxiety.During his run Christian falls into a reverie, remembering the beginnings of their relationship, Ana’s sexual awakening, and their first heavy D/s scene.





	1. Part 1 - Christian

Her phone rang. Without looking at the caller ID, Ana knew it was Christian and that it was five-thirty. He always called this time on Friday to find out what time Taylor should pick her up.

“Hi Christian.”  
“Hello yourself,” his voice was warm, genuinely pleased to hear hers. “I missed you.”  
"I’ve missed you too.” It was the truth and it was killing her.

Their conversation fell into its familiar routine, with Christian asking her about her week and her work. He was always interested and listened attentively, whether she was letting off steam about an annoying co-worker or dissecting the merits and drawbacks of a manuscript she was editing. But he never forgot why he was calling.

“What time should Taylor pick you up?”  
“He doesn’t have to.” She paused. _Don’t fold now Ana._ “I won’t be seeing you this weekend.”

Christian was surprised but not blindsided; it wasn’t the first time this happened. In the six months since they began there had been two weekends when they weren’t able to be together, the first time when he missed a connecting flight at Narita and had to spend the night in Tokyo, and when Ana had a head cold so bad she said her brain was functioning at the capacity of a five-watt bulb. That weekend he had sent over a hamper of comfort food – individual servings of chicken soup and macaroni and cheese made by his housekeeper, each one frozen and packed in its own zip-lock bag, cartons of orange juice, a tin of Fortnum and Mason Earl Grey tea, sugar cubes and milk in case she drank it English style, honey in case she didn’t. He had called her each day, and when she told him she had seen a doctor at a walk-in clinic and had gotten a prescription, had Taylor pick it up and bring it to her.

But he was disappointed. “I’m sorry we won't be together. I’m going to miss you. Are you OK?” remembering the weekend when she was sick.  
“No Christian, I’m not OK.”  
“Tell me what’s wrong,” his voice calm and low-key but the concern there. Ana could hear it.  
“I haven’t recovered from last week.”  
The line went silent, Christian patiently waiting for her to fill in the blanks.  
“I have marks on my back and my bottom and I'm still bruised,” she blurted out.  
“What?” Christian's voice incredulous. “I don’t get it.”  
“My ass is black and blue and my back looks like you went after it with a chainsaw! My body looks like a fucking rainbow! Do you get it now?” She was shouting. 

Christian was stunned. It was a bombshell and the last thing he expected to hear. It had happened only once before, when he was young but still knew better, and had sworn it would never happen again. Before he could think the words started pouring out, tripping over each other on the way. “Jesus Ana! I would never hurt you! It was a mistake, Ana, a mistake! Believe me! Ana let me see you. I need to see what I've done."

“Christian there’s nothing you can do.” It was a lame response but she couldn't think of anything to say, her brain having just stopped, shocked by the panic in his voice. She had never heard Christian so upset.  
“Ana, please. I did this to you and I need to make it right. Don’t stay away from me.” Christian's voice was calmer now and Ana was able to recover some of her own equilibrium. _Stay strong Ana._  
She did, finding strength in her silence.  
“Ana, please don’t do this. I know you’re angry or scared or both, but I need to make amends. Ana, please don't stay away from me this weekend." His litany paused. “I swear I will not touch you.”  


And in her heart-of-hearts she knew he wouldn’t. Besides, it was the honorable thing to do, telling him face-to-face instead of over the phone or god forbid texting him. “Alright, I’ll come over. But I won’t be spending the night." _And I won’t be spending the weekend either, ever._  
“Thank you Ana.” She could hear the relief in his voice. “I’ll send Taylor to pick you up.”  
“No. I’ll drive myself. Just leave a guest pass at the garage.”  
“You don’t have to do that,” the Christian accustomed to controlling the space present now, his voice practically back to normal. “Taylor is …”  
She cut him off.  
“No, I want to.”  
“OK, as you wish. But what time will I see you?”  
“Seven-thirty.”  
“I’ll leave the apartment door unlocked.”  


Christian put down the phone and felt the floor drop out from under him.

He bent over, his chest heaving and his hands gripping his knees. He could fell the ice cold tingle beginning, working its way down his spine. It signaled the old fear and it was back. He retaliated using every technique Dr. Flynn ever taught him, refusing to concede to the black hole of terror and anxiety that was threatening to suck him in. Only when he could feel his panic receding did he slowly uncurl his body. He stood up and took a deep breath.

He began a mental inventory as he replayed the last weekend in his mind. Did he hit her too hard, he didn’t think so but it was possible. But why didn’t she safeword, why didn’t she tell him that he was going too far? He couldn’t believe that he had physically injured her, the thought of it making him sick. But more than sick it terrified him -- terrified she would tell him she had had enough and that she wasn’t coming back. Christian could feel the panic returning … the thought of not seeing Ana, of not being able to see her … No! that just was _not_ a possibility, he couldn't let that happen … he _wouldn’t_ let it happen. He had to make it right with her and it had to be tonight … he had to see her, he needed to see her, god knows how he needed to see her.

Abruptly ... the chaotic fears vanished ... replaced by the simple truth Christian knew he had been living with all these past months ... that he wanted Ana ... not as his sub but as his equal. That he wanted her to be next to him and part of his life. That he was in love with her and had been since almost the beginning. But she had _no_ idea of the compulsions that ruled his psyche and the lynch pins that held him together. And he was terrified that if she knew she would run for the hills. Christian could feel the cold tingle beginning again.

“Shit!”

Christian Grey was not about despair; he could have never have come this far this fast if he was.

When he was in college it began to dawn on him that his sexual predilections could have serious repercussions. For the most part he was able to file that thought, but as self-awareness grew realized he would have to do something about it or his life would be a train wreck. When he moved to Philadelphia he finally started seeing a therapist; even now he had a standing appointment with Dr. Flynn. It was in the confines of those quiet spaces where he learned the tools he needed to cope when the power of the past encroached upon the present. He used them now.

_Dr. Flynn says the best defense is a good offense, or is it the other way around? Fuck it! Just do something!_

He stripped off his clothes and donned his running gear. Five miles in the damp Seattle twilight should keep his mind elsewhere, at least until 7:30. It did. The cadence of his footfalls and his rhythmic breathing released him from one compulsion, but caught him up in another reverie …

........ from the very beginning, he was immediately attracted to her. He found himself more interested, more engaged than he had ever been with any of his subs. She was loose and funny, quick on the uptake and not afraid to stand up for herself. And she was easy on the eye. Not drop dead gorgeous like some of the women he had been with, but still attractive, with her round cornflower blue eyes, long glossy brunette hair, smooth tight skin, and legs that went on forever. He spent almost an entire month pursuing her, unheard of for him. He had to go back to his vanilla days to remember when he had done something like that. But for her he was willing to break his rules, or least one of them. He should have known. She would have him breaking them left and right.

Even before he was sure he would undress her, he knew her body would be exciting. She told him she swam competitively all through high school and college, and still kept it up, hitting the pool three and four times a week, doing her laps and powering through her flip turns. While she was telling him this he envisioned those swimmer’s legs, long and taut, stretched out on the playroom bed, restrained by the softest of cuffs, and imagined how they would feel when he would finally be able to run his mouth and hands over, down, and up her thighs and feel the muscles under that smooth flesh. He wanted to have them wrapped around him when his cock was buried deep inside her.

But he could tell she was inexperienced. He had seriously doubted she was a virgin; no girl her age was. That was the second rule he broke. He always made it a point to avoid young girls who had little sexual history. They required a lot of time and in the end turned out to be incompatible with his tastes. He always let them go with no regrets on either side. His radar told him Ana was different though, and when she agreed to be his sub he was elated – no! who was he kidding -- he was _ecstatic!!_ He couldn’t wait to take her, possess her, show her and teach her, then watch her bloom for him -- from his mouth, under his hands, while his cock was inside her. And when his work was complete, when she was truly his creation and ready for him, he would subdue her, punish her, adore her, embrace her -- lead her in that intense pas de deux between sexuality and submission. The night he got home to find her consent waiting for him, he fantasized about fucking her and for the first time in god knew how long, had to beat one out.

He was right about her being practically a sexual novice. She had only one boyfriend that she had slept with, at least that’s what she said. And he believed her -- she was so tentative and willing to follow his lead. Her boyfriend had never brought her to a climax with his hands, but she was no stranger to self-gratification. She liked oral sex but had hardly gotten off that way; her boyfriend didn’t have either the patience or the inclination, and she had never reciprocated. And it went without saying she had never climaxed from just his cock. She was almost completely ignorant of what her body could feel and do. He took that ignorance and turned it inside out.

From Friday night when she got to his place until Sunday afternoon when she left, he would fuck her as many times she could comfortably take, riding his edge, so that each time was twenty, maybe twenty-five minutes long. He made sure she would cum, watching her closely, and demanding she be honest with him. No fake orgasms. And he pushed her, like he did with all his subs, learning when her body was tired and needing a break before she could be aroused again.

She was incredibly responsive; it excited him to see her body absorbing his careful tutelage. His cock was his primary tool; his mouth and hands on standby, first to teach and then to coax. By the end of their first month she was cumming for him like clockwork, not caring what part of him he used to get her there.

He could see that the whole experience was completely outside the realm of anything she ever knew and for the first few weekends she was in an erotic daze. And when she realized this was Standard Operating Procedure, this was the way it was going to be every time they were together, she eagerly stepped up to the plate and didn’t give a damn about the consequences. That’s when he began to train her as his sub …

Christian pulled up short. He had to stop.

The images and memories were pouring over him, flooding his senses and overwhelming him. He closed his eyes and let them come, re-living them -- the sharp pleasures and violent frenzy, her heat and scent, the taste of her, the cries of her explosive climaxes, his own choked cries, surging up and through him when he would finally let go. He felt himself getting hard and exhaled a soft groan. He regretted that he promised he would not touch her.

And standing here thinking about it wasn’t going to help. He resumed his run.

......... and she was surprisingly tough in the clinches …

He watched her, first in amazement and then with respect, as she went through her contract deliberating what her hard and soft limits would be. For someone who was in terra incognita, she was pretty damn sure about what she would and would not do, and when she made up her mind, it took a lot of sugar cubes to lure her back into the paddock. He was enchanted and found himself making even more concessions.

She crossed handcuffs off immediately, later telling him that she knew they would hurt. Only soft leather restraints would do. She would not wear a collar or harness, ever. Nipple clamps were OK. Ben wa balls were fine. She was wary about the butt plug and only consented after he promised her he would cease and desist if she wasn’t able to handle it, but after her first anal climax never said no. She readily consented to being hooded but refused to use a ball gag.

“It’s about trust Ana, not control. You do trust me, don’t you?” They were in the playroom, coming back down to earth after an exhausting exchange of mutual lust.  
“Yes."  
“Then why won’t you try it?”  
“Because I like to vocalize, Mr. Grey.” Sometimes Elizabeth Bennet was in the playroom.  
“So I’ve noticed, Miss Steele.” Sometimes Mr. Darcy was there too.  
“And if I used a ball gag I wouldn’t be able to do so and my pleasure would be diminished. I wouldn’t be happy and I don’t think you would be either.” She paused ... a beat, her timing impeccable. “But I bet the neighbors would like it.”  
Christian ducked his head to hide the laugh that was dying to get out of him and when he looked up at her, was grinning. “The walls are pretty soundproof Miss Steele.”  
“Thank God.”

But he could see that when she matured, when she had learned all that her body could do and had explored her sexuality to its limits, she would be selfish with her pleasure. The thought of her being his Dom had made him hard.

...... his first touches were light, real vanilla. When he flipped her over so he could take her from behind he would slap her ass. Or he would cuff her wrists or her ankles, sometimes both, and blindfold her. When he could see that she was OK with that he introduced the crop. He was careful and used a light touch, just a mild sting really, and he only used it on her when she was really aroused, and then would make it up to her by kissing or stroking any place on her body he saw needing some TLC. By the beginning of the third month he could see that she was ready, that the trust and eagerness were there. That’s when he told her he was going to whip her. It was going to be full-on D/s sex with bondage and discipline and she would be helpless.

It was extraordinary, and not just because of the sex.

“What are your safe words Ana?”  
“Red for Stop and yellow for Mercy.” She was saying them while he was making sure the mask was snug over her eyes. Christian knew from his own experience that the darkness behind it was impenetrable. Not a pinprick of light could get through. Ana wasn’t able to see a thing.  
“Good. Remember them.”  


He had already cuffed and suspended her and had watched her carefully when she did her body check, making sure that she had enough play in her arms, and while doing so, had instructed her that under no circumstances could she cum unless he allowed her to, and that she could not speak unless spoken to. And when she did she was to address him as Master or Sir. But she was permitted to express her pleasure. In fact, he wanted her to; he told her it would please him.  


Ana was not the first submissive Christian had trained. At least a dozen women had preceded her, all of them following his expert lead to this same place – standing before him, blind, obedient, silent and waiting. But the raw emotion that gripped him now was completely new; it was his _Ana_ who was finally here, bound and sightless, waiting for him in her dark, not knowing if that first touch would be a kiss or a blow.

Christian's hands were almost trembling when he cradled her face and gently kissed her. “Oh Ana,” he breathed against her mouth, “Now we begin.”

He stepped back and felt the powerful, familiar erotic charge. Ana’s breasts were lifted and her rib cage was visible; the elongation of her torso had accentuated the indented curve between her waist and hips. Her stomach was flattened and moving in and out with her breathing. And her legs, those beautiful went-on-forever swimmer's legs were poised and ready to spring. She was wearing thong panties, not much more than a g-string, but enough to conceal. In his mind’s eye Christian could see how he was going to put his hand between those legs, make Ana part them for him, and with his fingers ease away that scrap of lace. He would use them to stroke her there and feel her damp, then drop to his knees and touch her with his tongue, taste her, and then devour her. Those panties weren’t going to last long. And later while she was being whipped, those gorgeous muscled legs would be flexing and twisting and her stomach cupped in from the stinging blows he would be laying on her. He was going to kiss that hollow cup then lick the sweat from beneath her breasts and under her arms.

It was time to make this fantasy real.

He turned and went to the rack that held his crops, running his hand over them, deliberating. He wanted one that would be easy on her but could still bite if he chose, and settled on the German black leather. It was handcrafted and a beauty.

Then he took off his clothes.

Christian had no idea why he did it. He was never naked during a scene. It was just one of his rules. He would be barefoot and wearing just a pair of sweats, but he never took them off until the end, when he would release his sub from whatever he had her bound in and fuck the daylights out of her. He was already partially erect and he could feel his balls beginning to tighten. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back, balancing on the edge between the pain and the pleasure. _God, this is going to be a hell of night._

He crossed the room, his bare feet padding silently on the leather-covered floor until he was in front of her again, soundlessly placing the crop on the floor. He was just inches away and he could tell she knew he was there. He waited in the forced silence, still as a cobra, watching, and then in one smooth motion struck, embracing her completely, one hand on her ass the other behind her head, pulling her into him, pressing his body against hers in one long unbroken connection. He pulled her head back by her braid and kissed her, open mouthed, wet, deep and carnal, his tongue stroking hers in synch with his hips, teasing her with a taste of what his cock would do to her later.

She was ready for him. A steady diet of Christian's relentless sexuality during those cloistered weekends in the hothouse of his playroom had demolished any remnants of Ana's inhibitions, and no longer shy about expressing her sexual desire, she used her body to tell him she wanted him _now_. Working the leverage of her imprisoned arms to press herself against him, she matched her hips to the rhythm of his, hanging on to her tenuous connection while he tongue-fucked her mouth.

He replied by cupping her breast, filling his hand with its weight, lifting it and squeezing it, molding its flesh until its nipple begged for attention, then broke his kiss so he could take it into his mouth, finally, as much of it as it could hold. He began to suck, slow and hard, his mouth and tongue working her nipple like his life depended on it. He was still sucking it when he slipped his hand down her stomach and inside her panties, stopping when he felt her clit. It was hot and swollen, her cunt wetting his fingertips. When he used them to stroke it he felt her sharp cry. He lifted his head. Ana's nipple was wet and glistening, engorged just like her clit. He pulled her in even closer, his mouth hovering next to her ear, his short harsh breaths filling her while his wet fingertips worked her in the rhythm he knew she needed. He watched her this way now, like a secret voyeur, feeling her cunt get wetter, letting himself be consumed by the powerful aphrodisiac of the soft wet sounds it made as he stroked and fingered it. Seeing Ana blind and bound and feeling the tangible evidence of her arousal against his fingertips was all he needed. He was completely erect now and knew he would stay that way until he was finally inside her. He could feel his blood pounding in his ears.

“Do you like this Ana?”  
“Yes Master!” She was moving on his hand faster now.  
“You aren’t going to cum now Ana, are you?”  
“No Master!”  
“Good girl Ana,” as he thrust a finger inside her. Ana's face contorted, Christian watching it as she struggled to still her body. He let his finger rest until she was quiet for him, before he took it out and then with his thumb used it to capture her swollen nipple, rolling it between his fingers, making it hard, pressing it and releasing it, again and again. And when it was rigid, standing up hard for him, he began all over again, only this time with her other breast.

When he finally stopped he could see the flush that had spread up and over her neck and face.

“It’s time to get rid of these panties Ana.” He dropped to one knee in front of her and caressed the inside of her thighs, running his fingertips lightly over her flesh. “Open your legs for me Ana.”

Ana's head whipped down toward the sound of his voice. She tilted her hips forward, opening her legs, offering herself up to him. With his fingertips, Christian began to lightly stroke her sex, his touch making her widen her legs even more. Through the thin fabric Christian could feel her whole sex and it was swollen now – he could see the outline of those incredibly soft lips, smooth beneath his fingertips, and her clit, blooming between them. The scrap that covered it was damp and redolent of her taste. Christian eased it to the side and pressed his open mouth and tongue against it. This time Ana didn't try to stop herself and cried out. "Oh Jesus Master! ... Sir! Yes, please!" and blindly began seeking his mouth, raising herself up onto the balls of her feet, her body straining toward him as she tried to keep contact with that primal pleasure.

Christian was on her like a starving man, his tongue working every fleshy fold and his mouth soaking her, forcing for her to start driving herself toward her release. He pulled his mouth away when she did and sat back on his heels while he watched her body convulse as she let out a strangled cry.

“Now let’s really get rid of these panties.” 

He slid them down over her legs, flicking them away as he stood up. Ana was breathing hard now; Christian could see her chest rising and falling and her lips were parted, her upper body deeply flushed now. He picked up the crop and placed its flat end on her stomach. He wanted to let her know it was there and watched as her stomach tightened at its touch. His eyes narrowed at her involuntary gasp; he knew she was thinking he was going to use it now and was wondering where.

He did but not like that.

Instead, he leisurely traced the crop up her stomach, across her shoulders, down her arms, and over her breasts and then down over her torso until finally stopping at the juncture of her thighs. He used it to signal her he wanted them apart and when she obeyed continued, first down one leg then over and up the other. He circled around behind her, idly tracing a path around her ribs and up under her outstretched arms, not stopping the crop's exploration of her body until it rested at the base of her neck. He paused to take in the view.

Ana’s back was smooth and unblemished, punctuated by her two Venus dimples that framed her round bare ass. Christian hadn’t claimed it yet but he knew he would after tonight. He had just given her her first taste of the butt plug and he was surprised at the violence of her response. He knew what it was like to cum with one inside him; it literally was “la petite mort”, but he could take it or leave it. He could see that Ana couldn’t though, that she would become addicted to it if he used it too often. He was going to have to ration that particular pleasure, hoard it like a miser and let her cum that way only as a special reward. He couldn’t wait until it was his cock that was making her ass cum instead of the plug.

Christian's brain was filled with those images as the crop resumed its journey, down her spine and ass and over to the backs of her legs, using it to force her to widen them even more so it could devote extra attention to her cunt. He ran its flat end over it, back and forth, watching her ass move with it before silently laying it on the floor. He was completely still now, just close enough to let Ana know he was there.

Her breathing had slowed down, her erotic frenzy subsiding. Good. She was right where he wanted her, aroused and waiting.

Without warning he grabbed her hips and pulled her ass up hard against his erection. For a split second he debated sticking it in her and fucking her to the edge of her release, but decided on another punishment. Wrapping one arm around her waist, he held her tight against his rigid cock while slipping the other down between her legs, grabbing her cunt in a pornographic embrace. Ana let out a howl. His fingers found her clit and stroked it in small rhythmic circles, teasing it until he felt her arousal beginning beneath them again, then slid them inside her cunt. It was wet and wide open.

He went back and forth like this, rhythmic and relentless, holding her tight while she writhed and bucked against him, crying out now for Jesus! God! yes Master, please! in no particular order.  
“Do you like this Ana?” His mouth was next to her ear, his voice rough from the effort of controlling his arousal.  
“Oh fuck yes Master!!”  
“Do you want to cum this way?”  
“Jesus! Yes Master! Please.” She was almost crying now.  
“Then be still for me.”  
Ana stopped and Christian rewarded her obedience by stilling his hand. “Good girl, Ana.” He put his wet fingers in his mouth savoring her earthy taste before placing them against her lips. "Open your mouth for me Ana." She obeyed, taking them into her own mouth.

“Suck,” he commanded.

Christian felt Ana's tongue slide over and around his fingers, darting between them, coating them with her saliva. He watched the bellow of her cheeks, feeling the strong quick pulls of her mouth and tongue as she sucked on them, just like when it was his cock that was in her mouth. He pulled them out deftly slipped his tongue into their place, moving his wet fingers to her clit, never breaking his connection. His tongue and hand urging her, Ana let herself go again, working herself against him, finding her rhythm, small muffled cries of pleasure escaping her with each stroke as she moved on his hand and sucked on his tongue.

Without warning he stopped, this time stepping back and letting her body go. Ana let out a high sharp wail of frustration and went limp. Christian picked up the crop and stepped around her, face to face now. He could see the thin sheen of sweat that was beginning and she was starting to sag against the cuffs. 

He knew by now Ana would be focused only on the ache of her repeated arousal and denial, so when he hit her on the front of her thighs her cry was more from surprise then pain. He hit her there again, one, two, three, fast, not drawn out, more like a sensory blur, not giving her brain a chance to focus on the signals it was getting. Like quicksilver he slipped behind her and hit her again, this time on the back of her thighs and on her ass and upper back. The blows weren’t hard, he made sure of that, but he knew her skin would be stinging.

He silently moved around to her front again and dropped to his knees. “Open your legs Ana.” Her head jerked down and around when she heard his voice coming from below and in front of her. “I said open your legs for me Ana.” She did, wide, on the balls of her feet, lifting up her hips toward the sound of his voice. Christian grabbed her thighs and pulled them over his shoulders, pressing his open mouth against her wet cunt. When his tongue found her clit Ana cried out, her whole body arching, like an electric current going through it.

It went on like that for almost half an hour, the stinging hits from his crop alternating with his calculated arousal of her body. Christian was careful not to make her cum, letting her rest between assaults and assessing her endurance, making sure he didn't push over its edge. When he finally stopped, the front and backs of her thighs, along with her back and ass, were reddened and warm and her whole body was wet with sweat. Christian could see where it had gathered between her breasts and the tendrils of hair that had slipped from her braid were plastered against her cheeks. She was breathing heavily, her rib cage rising and falling and her stomach moving in and out, just as he imagined it would.

He was standing in front of her, his breathing almost as hard and he was covered in his own sweat, the smell of it filling his head and mixed in with the scent of his sex.

“Are you ready to cum for me now Ana? Do you want me inside you?,” Christian hearing his voice tight with his own arousal. He had been hard for more than half an hour now and his body was demanding release too.

“Yes, Master, dear Jesus yes Master, please!” Ana was pleading for hers.

Christian picked her up and in a flash she had her thighs wrapped around him. But he had pushed her too far, she was on a hair trigger and just the touch of his cock inside her was enough. Her climax ripped through her, her body convulsing again and again, her cry shattering the room. If it had rafters they would have shook. It took almost all of Christian's skill and willpower not to cum with her. He hung onto his edge for what felt like an eternity, closing his eyes and ears to the sight and sound of her violent release, knowing he wouldn't be able to do it a second time.

When he tore off her mask and unsnapped the cuffs Ana's arms dropped onto his shoulders and she threw them around him, both of them holding on to each other tight, like drowning swimmers rescued from the sea.

Her arms and legs still wrapped around him, Christian carried her to the end of the leather-covered table and sat her on it, his hands at her waist, steadying her.  
“Are you alright Ana?” his eyes questioning her.  
Ana closed hers and nodded.  
“Are you sure?”   
Ana opened her eyes and looked straight into his.  
“Yes.”  
“Can you go on?”  


A sudden flick of emotion darted across her face ... alarm? dismay? ... Christian couldn't tell and felt a quick stab of fear … he had gone too far, she was afraid and he was going to lose her. Quickly, turning coercion into tenderness, he took her face into his hands and put his lips within a hair’s breadth of hers. “It will be alright Ana, I promise you. You won’t be whipped anymore. That part is over, the scene is done. Now I want to make love to you Ana. You’ve pleased me so much tonight; let me make you feel the same. Let me love you Ana.”

Any shred of resistance Ana may have had crumbled in the face of his velvet onslaught. She threw her arms around him and sobbed, “Yes Christian! But only if you swear to me that you'll let me finish, that you won’t ...” her voice trailed off; she still had trouble with the words for what she let him do to her.

“I swear, I will let you cum,” Christian sealing his vow with a kiss. And then with his eyes caressing hers, gently commanded her. “Turn over Ana.”

Christian could see the confusion and doubt in her face, her eloquent eyes telling him she was still unsure and afraid, but she did, on her knees, ass up high like he taught her, her hands holding the sides of the table. His heart surged; Ana's trust in him was beautiful and a gift without price; it was the D/s dynamic at its most glorious. He cast his net with care, assuaging those fears so he could gently bring her in and leaning over her, covered her body with his and held her close to him. He gently kissed her neck, brushing aside her braid and put his mouth close to her ear. “I have you, Ana. You’re safe.”

And then he entered her.

The sensation of his cock sliding into her made her cry out and took his breath away … she was so warm … smooth ... slick ... so wet and tight … he closed his eyes and groaned.

Then he began.

He was slow and deliberate, each stroke meant only for her. He could feel her body opening itself to him, accepting everything he was giving her. … she was his Dom now … granting him her favour … her lover’s croon telling him that he was her favorite and that he pleased her. Christian watched her, waiting to feel her pleasure build, waiting for her body to tell him she needed him to move faster. And when he saw it, when he felt her starting to go, wet his fingertips and touched her. It was all she needed.

Ana’s climax was deep this time, down to the very core of her being, going on forever. She cried out his name again and again, begging him not to stop, begging him to fuck her. And he did, for as long as he could, until he couldn’t hold himself any longer and let himself go, the intensity of his own orgasm roaring up and through him, his cry matching hers.

And when they both collapsed Christian’s arms were the only thing keeping Ana from buckling underneath him. He folded her into them and carried her to the bed, carefully laying her on it, a different release, but one nonetheless. He knew she was beyond utterly exhausted. Wrapping himself around her, he held her in the cradle of his arms and legs, praising her and calling her his beautiful girl, wiping away the damp pieces of hair from her face while he did so. He knew it had been intense for her; he could see the tears that were threatening to spill over from her eyes. And he could see that she needed him, needed him to say the words to make the connection, but he couldn’t.

Then the parched landscape of his soul betrayed him. 

“Don’t leave me Ana,” he whispered, his plea revealing his deepest need and greatest fear. 

He watched her eyes soften, then say yes, she was still his.

_Yes! There is a God in heaven!_

Carefully undoing the tangle that was their limbs, Christian gently eased Ana down onto her back, kneeling between her legs as he did so. He reached for a pillow and slid it under her hips. Ana half lifted her head in a feeble protest but she was too spent, so she submitted to him once more, closing her eyes when he pushed apart her thighs and put his open mouth on her, his tongue wet and slow, licking her completely, again and again.

It wasn’t an act of arousal though, but one of submission, Christian’s submission to her. He was her Dom, giving himself to her, showing his gratitude for her trust in him. Ana lay there, receiving his gift, accepting it as her due.


	2. Anastasia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their last scene, when Ana saw the extent of the red wheals and black bruises on her body, she finally realized she couldn’t fulfill Christian's needs as his submissive and their relationship had to end. But she’s in love with him, and knowing she will never see him again is breaking her heart.  
She agrees to go to him tonight because he practically begged her to, he was so upset at what he had done. But knowing what she has to say is hanging heavy over her.  
As she drives to Christian’s apartment, Ana tries to figure out how she’s going to tell him it’s over, but all she can think about is Christian, their early days, his low-key pursuit of her, the sex – oh my God the sex! And his stunning revelations about his past.

It had been the worst week of Ana’s short adult life. Her heart was breaking and the pain it made was raw. She was versed in how her beloved English poets used the word heartsick to describe emotional torment, but now she truly knew what it meant. She couldn’t eat; she couldn’t sleep; she was encased in a heavy black fog. She had never experienced anything like it, but then she had never fallen in love before.

She couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment it happened, but by their third month she knew she was in love with Christian Grey. She wouldn’t let herself acknowledge it though, because if she did, she was afraid he would turn away if he knew, and the thought of that was too much to bear. So she ignored it. She wore blinders and lived in the moment, pushing her feelings for him out of her consciousness, refusing to admit they existed.

It had all came crashing down early Sunday evening. In the mirror, when she got home and saw the reddening welts on her back and the blue bruises beginning to blacken her ass, her defenses collapsed. She couldn’t ignore her heart any longer. The floodgates opened as she admitted to herself that she loved Christian and couldn't be the woman he wanted. How could he possibly love her back?

She had begun sobbing – crying because their relationship had no future, afraid of the day when he would end it, afraid for when she would no longer see him, the thought of it killing her. She cried for the loss of her innocence she so easily surrendered, afraid she would never be content and happy, not after what he showed her and taught her. And when she remembered how her body got those welts and bruises, she felt the shame and cried even harder, shame in what she let him do to her, that she let him violate her body in ways she never dreamed of, and welcomed it. But ultimately she had cried for the loss of her old self, for that part of her that no longer existed, that had been irrevocably changed and was gone forever. And she cried because what was left behind bore the imprint of Christian Grey.

And then after a wretched night of no sleep and ceaseless crying, Ana greeted the Monday morning with a head aching from all her tears, and the sober realization that if she was going to rid herself of this desperate unhappiness, Christian Grey would have to go. The thought of no longer seeing him had brought on a fresh bout of sobbing but the tears wouldn’t come. She was too spent and too sore. So she kept repeating her mantra, that with enough time she would get over him, hanging on to the words like a life raft.

But Jesus what a ride it had been!

She knew she would never meet another man like him. He was danger and power and sex, packaged in beauty, brains, and charm, a combination impossible to resist, and as Ana feared, probably lethal. So she resolved that she would have to end it.

The rest of that week she tortured herself with how to do it. Ghosting wasn't an option -- not after six months of the kind of sex they shared. She knew Christian would be on her in a flash, polite but insistent, more like a juggernaut really, demanding her truth. No, ghosting wasn't an option. She toyed with sending him an email, texting him, even calling him -- the problem with all those was she would have to make the first move. So she kept finding things to do that kept her from picking up her phone or distracting her from her email until Friday, when she knew he would call. She would tell him then.

It didn’t quite work out as planned.

It was Friday evening and the hour of Ana's reckoning had finally arrived. Gathering her keys and courage, she drove to Christian's building, rehearsing along the way what she would say and how she would say it, rationalizing her reasons. But her brain wouldn't cooperate; the threads of her argument kept ending up in dead ends or doubled back on themselves, caught up in her heart's resistance. _ This is not working. Try something else Ana._ So she did, but the only thoughts she could pull up were flashbacks of their past six months, bits and pieces, the memorable moments, her personal highlight reel.

… she couldn’t believe when he started coming on to her but he was and he was interested. That first time alone with him in his apartment, when he told her he wanted her to be his submissive …

Her eyes took in the entire room, wide in disbelief. She looked at him and then looked back again -- at the racks of implements, the crops, the paddles, the straps and cuffs. The large bed, the padded table with cuffs and straps hanging from each corner …

  
“You beat women …”  
“No Ana.”  
“You let women beat you?”  
“No.”

“Then just exactly what is it that you do?”  


“I’m a Dominant and my partner is my submissive.”  


Ana couldn’t find her words but her eyes spoke for her, channeling her shock and confusion  


“It’s a very special relationship Ana. It’s not about pain or degradation. It’s about trust and honesty. When you give yourself to me, as my submissive, you are giving me a gift, the gift of yourself, a gift that I will never abuse.”  


“And what do I get?”  


He took her hand. “You get me. I will be your Dominant and I will be devoted to you. I will tend to you, I will care for you, I will catch you when you fall. I will be by your side, helping you and guiding you.”  


“I will not abandon you.”  


He turned her hand over and like a courtier wordlessly pledging his devotion, pressed his mouth into her palm.

It was electric.

Ana felt as if she was having an out-of-body experience. She could see what he was doing, his words seductive as hell and his voice wrapping them around her, but the other part of her was dumbstruck; she had never experienced anything like him.  


“I’m sorry but this is too much.”  


“I know it is Ana and I don’t expect an answer from you tonight. I’d be disappointed if you did.”  


“Did what?”  


“Said yes. Or said no.”  


“Ana, I’ve been a Dominant all my adult life. I know what I’m doing. If you consented to be my submissive, you would be completely safe. I would protect you, I would not hurt you, I would bring you such joy and pleasure …,” he kissed her palm again, “… I would make you mine.”

His words were those of a lover wooing his beloved, spoken in the cadence of her beloved Restoration poets, whose verses combined courtly love with frank carnality.

Ana’s rational self may have been putting on the breaks but her body wasn’t. She felt her arousal, sudden and unexpected. Christian saw it too, and knew he hadn’t lost her.

“Come.” He led her out of the dim light back into reality. They were sitting at the table now, where she had signed the non-disclosure agreement.

“This is a contract Ana. Don’t be alarmed, it’s pretty standard issue … for what I do. I want you to read it, not here, but when you’re home and you can think about what I’m offering. There would be boundaries Ana, that you would set and that I couldn’t violate. They would be your hard and your soft limits. You would be safe. The contract explains this. But I would hope that you would want to learn more and would come to me with your questions.”

She picked up the clasp envelope and opened it, looking at its contents but not taking them out.  


“I think I need to go home.”  


“I think so too.”  


He drove her there and ended her night with a chaste kiss.  


And then he came a'courtin’.

He started to call on her, taking her out, two maybe three times a week, the places they went to casual and low key and their evenings early; they both had to get up for work.

He was good company, adept at getting her to talk and then could keep her words flowing. He was genuinely curious about her, always asking questions about what she liked and why she liked it, listening and never judgmental, despite her youth and inexperience. She sensed his interest wasn’t just part of his seduction routine either, he really wanted to know more about her.

She learned he was born in Detroit and that he was adopted. So were his younger brother and sister. He grew up in Grosse Pointe. He went to a public high school there, then to Harvard where he majored in business and then got his MBA from Wharton. He made his fortune in Seattle. She Googled him and depending on who you chose to believe, was worth between three and 400 million. Christian Grey was seriously rich. But he wasn’t a snob, even though he had more money than she would ever see in her lifetime. He had expensive tastes but wore them like a comfortable shoe and never made her feel less than his equal because hers were so prosaic.

And he was never importunate. He never pressured her, but she could feel his heat. He wanted her.

Then after almost two weeks of dating – their nights out together were dates weren’t they? – tucked into a quiet corner of the bar at the Mayflower Park, she put the clasp envelop on the table. He looked at her, his eyes expectant. He didn’t try to mask his thoughts; she could tell he wanted her to say yes and would be disappointed if she didn’t. And if she said no, she knew he would be a gentleman about the whole thing. Now she understood the reason for the NDA.

“Christian I’m supposed to decide what I’m willing and not willing to do and I don’t even know what half this stuff is. I’ve been to the web sites and I’ve seen the pictures, and I gotta say, I’m ambivalent.”

What she didn’t tell him was that after she had visited all those web sites she had read the on-line erotica to see how that stuff worked. It was hot as hell and her curiosity was only sharpened.

“I didn’t hear a yes, but I didn’t hear a no. So let’s talk about it. Come to my place, tonight, show me what you think you’d like, and I’ll tell you how it would make you feel.” His gray eyes were intent, gauging her reaction. She wasn’t there yet. “And you would be safe, no test drives.”

The second time in the room was easier thanks to her crash-course lessons on the Internet. She could begin to see herself in it. Every item she pointed to he picked up and gave to her, letting her feel it, examine it, turn it over. And when he was telling her about the nipple clamps she felt her sex convulse. It didn’t surprise her though, it happened every time she thought about him and she was thinking about him all the time now.

“… I would have them custom made for you, these little stones would be real. They wouldn’t hurt; I would make sure that they weren’t too tight. But before I would put them on I would make sure that you would be ready for them, ready for me. The sensation would be intense Ana, but not painful. Your real pleasure would come when I would take them off.”

She learned later that he wasn’t lying. Before he would put the first one on he would suck on her breast, his tongue working her nipple like a baby’s as it sucked for sustenance. She would feel the waves of pleasure shooting straight down into her sex, her muscles there anxious to receive him. He would take his mouth away and then roll the nipple between his thumb and forefinger, making it hard, pressing it ever so gently. Then he would suck from her again, his hand cupping her breast, lifting it to his mouth, taking in as much of it as his mouth could hold. The sensation of his mouth and tongue sucking on her, then the feeling in her nipples as they were trapped between his fingertips … it was almost enough to make her cum.

And when the delicate clamps were finally on, he would attend to the other parts of her body, using his hands or his mouth, to make sure her arousal would embrace every part of her. Then as she was cumming, her body heaving, he would take the clamps off. The sensation surging back into her nipples would be like his tongue and mouth sucking on them but a hundred times more intense and she would break apart again, in his arms this time, his gray eyes almost black, letting her know he owned every piece of her pleasure.

The Friday night after her second visit to his playroom – that’s what he called it – she dropped the clasp envelope off at the concierge desk of his building. The contract was inside, her business card clipped to it. In the lower right corner she had written “P.T.O.” On the other side was the single word “Yes.”

He called her that night and his first words were, “Thank you, Ana.”

… and her first time with him …

He had undressed her as she thought he would, slowly, skillfully, peeling away her garments with practiced ease. _He’s done this before. Thank God. _He didn’t ask her to take off his clothes and she was secretly grateful; her fingers would have made a mess of it. When he had her naked, he sat her on the foot of the bed and then undressed himself in front of her, never saying a word, never taking his eyes off her. It was her own private strip tease.

He was naked male beauty incarnate. His chest was deep and shoulders were sculpted, his scrotum tucked up high. The way it laid between his thighs reminded her of those ancient Greek bronzes, compact and powerful. And his erection – it was gorgeous! Ana had never taken one in her mouth before but she found herself wanting to do it with this one.

“Can you cum?” They were on the playroom bed, his face achingly close to hers, his intimacy devastating, breaking down her boundaries and inhibitions.

“I have.”

“How?” She didn’t know how to answer.

His put his hand between her legs and she instinctively parted them, giving him access to what they both wanted. His finger began teasing her.

“Do you make yourself cum like this?”

“Yes,” barely getting the word out.

“Did your boyfriend make you cum like this?”

“No.”

“Did he make you cum with his mouth?” She was hard now.

“No.”

His finger slid inside her.

“Did he make you cum like this?”

“No!”, her muscles unconsciously trying to hold onto that elusive pleasure.

“We’re going to change all that.”

And he did.

… and when he told her about Elena! …

It was early on in their relationship, when she was still tentative about the boundaries of his trust, gleaning tidbits about him from scraps of conversation and quiet examination. They were under the covers in the playroom bed, Christian on his back, Ana on her side, an arm and leg draped over him. Her eyes were wandering around the room, gliding over his collection of crops, paddles, and floggers ...

“Christian how did you get into this … this Dominate-submissive lifestyle?”

“It’s not a lifestyle Ana. I only do this on weekends.”

“OK, it’s not a lifestyle.” _Even if you do have an entire room in your apartment dedicated to it._ “But how did you learn about it? I mean, what drew you to it?”__

“That’s complicated.” He turned to look at her. “I was introduced to it by an older woman.”

“Why am I not surprised,” she deadpanned. “So you had your own Mrs. Robinson?”

“No, it was Mrs. Lincoln actually. Elena Lincoln.”

“Who was she?”

“She lived in the neighborhood. In Grosse Pointe.” Ana remembered having to pause so her brain could turn _that_ nugget over. Then she suddenly remembered his words about being a Dominant all his adult life.

“How long have you been doing this?”

“Since I was 15.”

_ Holy Mary, mother of God!_ Her hand went to her mouth, probably to cover the enormous “O” it was making. Then the light bulb went off.

“You and Mrs. Robinson … at 15?”

“Yes. But it was OK Ana. I went willingly. I was no lamb to the slaughter. Believe me.”

And she did, silently swallowing her disbelief.

“How long did it last?”

“All through high school.”

“And no one ever knew?,” her voice incredulous this time.

“Nope.”

Ana drew back and raised herself up onto one forearm so she could look down at him, as if to reassess him in the context of this incredible revelation. Christian Grey was like a puzzle box, you opened one compartment only to find another, then after that another and then another. It was never ending. How many compartments do you have Mr. Grey?

“I suppose Dr. Flynn knows about her.”

“I tell Dr. Flynn everything.”

“Even about us?”

“Even about us.”

"Your medical records must be a doozy.”

“They are. I have a written agreement with him that when he retires he’s going to burn them.”

“Is that legal?”

“No, but it’s one of the perks of being obscenely rich.”

“Then you better make damn sure you’re there when he does, because you don’t want any of this shit ever getting out.”

... and then there were his scars ….

She had noticed them scattered across his torso, small rough white spots, like tiny wounds that had never healed properly. She could see them on his chest, little speckles that wouldn’t let his hair grow on the small territory that each one occupied, and felt them on his back when he was balls deep inside her, her legs and arms wrapped around him. And those few times when they showered together she could see them, imperfections marring the smooth skin of his shoulders.

They were in the playroom again – it seemed like every momentous event in their relationship took place in that bed – and she was drawing lazy circles with her fingertips across his upper torso, wallowing in the perfection of its view.

“What are these Christian? They look like scars. Are they?”

“Yes they are.” He pushed her hand away.

_Uh oh, they’ve got some baggage._ “Did I just do something wrong?”

“No Ana. You didn’t do anything wrong. I got these scars when I was little, before I was adopted.” She waited for the second shoe to drop. “And that’s a hard limit so don’t ask me again.” His tone was short and clipped, borderline angry.

Ana was floored. She had never heard him talk to her like this before. This was a new Christian who could turn on a dime, from honied sweetness to stiletto ice. The image of him sitting across a negotiating table flashed through her mind's eye.

“I’m sorry Ana; that was really rough and uncalled for. But it’s something I never talk about with my subs.”

It was like a bucket of ice water in her face but that’s exactly what she was, just one of God-knows how many women, a place holder in a long string of them. Her fairy-tale hope of being more than a weekend routine had just taken a body blow. _Welcome to the real world Ana._

She looked over at him. His gray eyes were watching her, intently. She was determined not to let him see her pain.

“I take it then that you don’t want me to touch them.”

“Not like this.”

“But you’ve never minded before.”

“Before, I was fucking your brains out! You weren’t thinking about them, and neither was I.” He sighed and closed his eyes and when he opened them they were contrite. “Ana I don’t want this to come between us. Please. You’re very special to me.”

_Oh I bet you say that to all the girls._

It was a smart-ass, right back at you come-back and she was glad she had held her tongue. Neither of them needed recriminations at this point.

But that’s when she started to suspect abuse.

And the first time he whipped her! The memory of that night was one she would take to her grave. The playroom scene was mind-blowing – she felt fear and sexual arousal on a scale Christian had never taken her to and had never climaxed so hard in her short adult life. But it was his aftercare that really unnerved her.

Unlike those earlier nights when she would fall into her bed and be out like a light, sleep had refused to come. She was still engulfed in the sexual and emotional tsunami of the past two hours, re-living what it felt like to have Christian's fingers and tongue and mouth on her and in her, the never-ending sensation of his cock when it was inside her and fucking her, keeping her on her edge, not letting her cum ... It was the first time she had felt the full force of Christian’s Dom persona, demanding her complete submission. The true meaning of those words he had spoken to her that night so long ago had started to sink in. _I will be your Dominant Ana. You will give yourself to me. And when you do I will be devoted to you. I will tend to you, I will care for you. _She remembered his eyes when he had finally taken off her mask. He was burning for her, he _needed_ her to submit.

But it was his soft words so close to her ear, pledging his care and devotion, that finally released her, when she on her hands and knees, begging him to fuck her, cumming so hard she thought she would die, that she truly gave herself over to him. She was his sub and he was her Dom; he would take care of her, he had vowed it. Her orgasm was her epiphany and for the first time in her young life, Ana had felt completely free.

Every action has a reaction though, and that night Ana finally accepted that pain was the price for Christian’s protection. When she was finally able to clear her memory banks of the molten pleasure still surging through her, she re-lived how it felt when his crop had struck her body. She went at it like an analyst, weighing each hit; assessing every one.

The pain had certainly heightened her senses, that’s for sure! While she was standing there helpless in her dark, wondering when and where she would feel the crop next, her adrenaline had kicked into overdrive. Fear really was an aphrodisiac.

But then there were times when the crop really _was_ uncomfortable, but its pain had been fleeting and never really lingered because Christian would switch to a different crop -- his mouth, his cock, his fingers -- and inflict another kind of pain. And boy did she like _that_ pain! Ana discovered that she really liked riding her edge; what she wasn’t sure about was the cost of getting there.

It was in the deeper recesses of her consciousness though, where Ana felt really unsure of this path she was letting herself take. She replayed the very end of that night’s scene, when Christian implored her not to abandon him. The devotional submissiveness of his last act on her body had surprised her, but it was his vulnerability, his willingness to show it to her, that had really aroused her, emotionally and sexually. His surrender had forged a new connection to a deeper intimacy, and it was the memory of that moment that she knew would be the one she would take to her grave.

But the crop was something she was going to have to deal with. She promised herself that in the morning she would tell Christian that she needed some relief, and when she finally dozed off, was practicing what she was going to say.

When she finally got up the proverbial morning after and went to the kitchen barefoot and in a simple cotton robe, for a much-needed coffee and breakfast, Christian was already there, in a tee and sweats, sitting at the breakfast bar, scanning the emails on his laptop.

When he saw her his face lit up and in two steps had covered the space between them. “Good morning Ana!” He cupped her face in his hands. “Baby,” he breathed, “you are amazing! Last night…” He kissed her then wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight. “I am _so happy_ that you are here.” He tipped up her chin. “How do you feel?”

“OK.”

“Just OK?" He stepped back, hands on her upper arms, scanning her face for the truth. “Honest communication Ana, remember?"

She took a deep breath.

“Christian, I want to renegotiate.”

“OK. I’m listening.”

“Last night … last night was too much. I can’t … I won’t do that anymore Christian.”

She didn’t know it at the time, but his gut had heaved.

“Do you want to terminate our contract?" His voice had shifted into a controlled neutral.

“No that’s not what I want. I said I want to renegotiate.”

“Then tell me what you want. What are your terms?”

In a heartbeat Ana’s carefully rehearsed words deserted her. She stood before him feeling inexperienced and unworldly, just like the 20-something girl she really was.

Christian wrapped her in his embrace again and Ana gratefully rested her cheek on his oh-so-solid chest. “I know what you’re going through Ana and I completely understand." He kissed the top of her head. "Last night you crossed a boundary and you’re still trying to get your head around what happened. So let’s figure this out together, and what you want to do about it.” He led her over to the sofa where they both plopped down and put their feet up on the low table in front of it, his arm draped over her shoulder making a cocoon where she could feel safe.

“OK Ana, on a scale of one to ten, how would describe last night, with one being you would you would rather kill yourself than go through that again and ten being, ‘where do I sign, no questions asked’.”

Ana remembered she had busted out loud laughing, she couldn't help it, it was so unexpected, this kind of corniness coming from Christian. _He’s so good at this!_ "Oh Christian,” she was grinning at him, “thank you for making this easier.”

He pulled her in closer and kissed her. “You’re welcome.” Then he got serious. “Was it too much pain Ana?” His voice was low and his eyes anxious.

Ana carefully re-hashed her predawn fact-finding mission before answering, and when she did was surprised at how easily the words came out. “No not really, but I still don’t want to do that every weekend.”

“Agreed.”

And she remembered being surprised at Christian's alacrity. She was expecting at least _ a little_ push back.

“How often then?”

She became emboldened.

“I don’t know Christian. I still have to think about it.”

“OK. Think about it for as long as you want. I need to know that you want to be here, doing this with me. But promise me,” he was wearing his wolfish grin now, “that you’ll tell me when you’re ready.”

Ana couldn’t believe it! It had been so easy! All her angst had been for nothing!

“I promise. There’s one more thing, though.”

She remembered the hint of surprise that had flitted across his face.

“Last night was amazing for me too, Christian." Now it was her turn, finding her words finally, filling the space between them in her soft voice. "Last night, I thought I knew what to expect, but I was wrong. What happened last night was so intense, the sex was so much more than what we had done before, and things were happening to me that I still can’t put into words … it was too much, way too much and I couldn’t handle it.”

And she remembered his gentleness when he began to probe, respecting her newness with this unfamiliar country he had brought her to.

“These things that were happening to you, were they bad?”

“No,” remembering the ecstatic violence of her joy when she finally submitted to him and gave him what he wanted most. And the power she felt when he reciprocated.

“Were you scared?”

“Not bad scared, but good scared. I knew you would never hurt me.”

"Did I push you too hard?”

“I think so.”

“You were past your breaking point, weren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“OK Miss Steele, now I want to renegotiate.” He stood up in whoosh, bringing her with him. The intensity in his eyes riveted her and the yearning behind them made her want him even more.

“Ana I want you to promise me that you will use your safe words, not after you’ve reached your limit but before you do. That’s why you have them. This isn’t a contest to see how long you can take it. I need to know that you’ll safeword when you know you need to. I can’t make that call.” He wrapped her into his arms again, Ana's body finding its way into his familiar contours, her arms around him too, the side of her face against his chest. She could feel him stroking the back of her head. “Last night I was greedy, I know. I pushed you too hard, I’ll admit it and I’m truly sorry. But I was just _so lost_ in you Ana that I didn’t want to turn back. But if you had used one of your safewords, I would have immediately eased up.” He tilted her chin and locked his gray eyes onto hers. “Ana I _have_ to be able to trust you. I _ have_ to know that I can rely on you, every time, to set your limits and tell me when you’ve reached them. It’s how I keep you safe. What we do in the playroom isn’t just about me. You’re a partner in this too.”

It was quite a recitation. Unlike Ana, Christian knew exactly what he wanted and could cut straight to the chase to say so. But then, he had a lot more experience.

“Are these new terms acceptable?”

“Yes.”

Ana remembered the joy in Christian’s face; the crop was nothing compared to seeing his happiness when she gave him her consent. _So this is the way this is going to work._ It was her second epiphany.

Christian kissed her, quick and hard. “Now let me see your back.”

He turned her around and as she was about to undo the tie on her robe, he reached around and put his hands on hers.

“No, let me” his voice soft and asking. He pulled the tie and her robe fell open.

It was a yukata, a garment whose elegant simplicity lifted it beyond its common day functionality to a work of beauty. He eased it off her shoulders and brought it down her back, slowly, revealing her flesh for his eyes only. When it was at her waist he let it fall to the floor. His fingertips felt her skin, lightly because he knew she could be tender, and his eyes searched for any mark he may have made. He studied her whole back this way and then dropped to his knees and continued his careful examination to the back of her thighs. He ran his fingertips over her skin, so carefully she thought he might be worshiping her. When he got to her ass he paused. She was wearing panties. For the life of her she still couldn’t remember why. She felt him kiss one cheek through the sheer fabric, then the other, then felt him ease it over the beautiful round flesh that was her ass down to her ankles. Her ass was his now. He caressed it, kissed it, squeezed it, licked it, and when he was satisfied that he had inflicted no harm to it, lifted up her foot, first one, then the other, and freed them from their soft shackle.

He stood up, bringing the robe with him and held it as she slipped her arms into it. He moved around to the front of her and knelt again, this time searching the front of her thighs, his fingertips running down and up her flesh. He could find no fault with her skin.

Ana remembered standing there the entire time, rock still, her eyes closed, amazed. This man could take a simple task, like untying a robe, and turn it into an erotic act. When she felt his fingertips on her flesh, his lovely soft mouth on her covered ass, and then his delight when it was freed from its flimsy restraint, nothing between it and him, she knew how their morning was going to end. She felt the delicious heaviness growing in her sex. It already knew its Master was nearby and that he would soon claim it.

Christian stood up and embraced her like he did the night before, repeating that first opened-mouth kiss. He slipped his forearm between her legs so she could wrap them around his waist and carried her that way to the nearest bed. Breakfast would have to wait.

And finally she remembered when he at last truly claimed her ass. Of his leisurely preparation, first with his tongue and then his fingers, feeling his hard cock's wet smooth tip pressed up against her with his words next to her ear, guiding, reassuring, the sensation of its slick warmth effortlessly sliding into her, filling her in that unfamiliar place, and then his full-out assault on body, his fingers making her clit hard, his constant soft words of encouragement and praise falling around her, the pleasure building, and then the familiar greed as her body took over and began its relentless pursuit, only new muscles flexing this time. When her climax came, it had torn through her, smashing down her defenses, destroying her preconceived notions of propriety. In that brief moment of pure sensation, Ana literally did not exist.

But when her body was sated and finally stopped she knew she had been changed, that some part of the old Anastasia was gone, forever. She had started to cry then, soft, silent tears. But why was she crying … regret … relief … joy… simple release? She didn’t know. But she knew that Christian had seen her tears and although he said nothing, had felt the change in her too. He never took her that way again.


	3. Christian and Ana:Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter, Christian & Ana are finally on the page together. I found Christian to be the more compelling of the two protagonists and IMO Ms. James short changed him. So I decided to rectify that. In this last installment the backstory I created for Christian is finally revealed. It follows the original's basic outline but its tone is somewhat darker, more sexually explicit, and has more detail and (I hope) more real-world veracity. Readers familiar with the books will recognize scenes and snippets of dialogue that I used to jump start my imagination.  


Ana quietly let herself into Christian’s apartment, slipping her coat down her arms, dropping it on the foyer's divan. The great room was dim, its only illumination coming from the pendant lights hanging over the breakfast bar; outside their pools of light it was dark. The Seattle night skyline was visible through the panoramic window. Christian was staring at it, his back to her, when he heard her come in. He turned around and stepped out of the shadow into the light.

He was wearing his usual Friday night gear of soft sweats and a plain short sleeve tee. His feet were bare and his hair was damp. He was fresh from a shower and Ana knew that his face would be just-shaved, its skin smooth and baby soft, a trace of his warm, sandalwood-scented shaving gel still lingering.

Standing there, the planes of his face and torso sculpted in chiaroscuro, Ana was assailed again by his impossible male beauty. She sent up a silent prayer. _Dear God please help me._ She knew she was going to need an act of divine intervention tonight if she was going to resist him, if she was not going to succumb. Sheer willpower would not be enough.

“Baby,” he said, holding out a hand out toward her. “You came. Thank you Ana.” His relief was palpable.

Ana’s heart plummeted.__  
__

She had made a mistake, an enormous one. She should have never agreed to come to him. What made her think she was strong enough to tell him it was over when every fiber of her was aching to walk into his arms?

With a vengeance, the desperate unhappiness of the past week came roaring back. She burst into tears, not dainty lady ones but huge wracking cries that shook her shoulders. She covered her mouth to stifle them, as if by doing so she could somehow hide them and make her misery invisible.

“Ana, baby what's wrong?” Christian was stunned. Her outburst was so sudden, coming out of nowhere, going from zero to sixty in a second. And it was so intense. He could feel his spine tingle.__  
__

He moved toward her but froze when she shouted at him, “No Christian! Stop!” her arm outstretched as if she could forcibly keep him at bay.

Christian was totally confused now, and more than a little afraid. “Ana, for God's sake tell me, what's wrong? Did I hurt you that badly? If I did,_please_ forgive me, you know I would _never_ hurt you ...”

“No,” she choked out, “It's not that.” She looked at him with her tear streaked face. “Christian I'm not going to see you anymore.”

Christian’s face collapsed, the color draining out of it.__  
__

“Ana, don't do this.”

“I have to,” her tears slowly starting again.

“Why?” His face was pitiful.

“Because I can't do this anymore Christian. I can't be your sub. I want to, but I just can't. I can't give you what you want and it's killing me, because I love you ... because I'm in love with you … and I have been almost since the beginning! Oh my god Christian ...” She had to stop because she was crying again.

“Ana, did I ever hurt you?” His voice was desolate.

“No you never hurt me,” sobbing out her words.

“Did you ever not want to be here?”

“God no!” she burst out, “I _loved _being here! I _loved _being with you! I still do ...”

It was too much, the misery of the past five days became unendurable and Ana collapsed under its weight. With no conscious thought of what she was doing, she bolted to Christian’s kitchen and took refuge in its warm dark, where she was silently sick. In an instant it was over, but it brought her release -- and for the first time since Sunday night, realized she was going to get through this; this wasn’t going to be the end of her life as she knew it. _Thank you God. _ Divine intervention – better late than never.  


She splashed her face with water and turned back toward the light and saw him -- there in its bright center, sitting back on his heels, head bowed, hands on his thighs.

“Christian?”

He didn't move.__  
__

Ana quickly moved around the breakfast bar and stood in front of him. He remained motionless, never acknowledging her presence.

“Christian, look at me!” Ana’s voice was a sharp command. Christian obeyed, lifting his head and his eyes silently locking onto hers.

Ana’s breath stopped short. His beautiful face was ravaged, his gray eyes bleak and filled with despair, pain etched onto every surface, naked and in plain sight. _Oh my God! My poor Christian!_ Ana sank to her knees and sat back, picking his up hands. They grabbed hers back, tight.____  
____

“Don't leave me,” he whispered.

Ana's memory burst into flame. It was the same entreaty he uttered after their first scene. For her that night was still wildly alive, it lived inside her head – every sound, every sensation, every nuance; the power dynamic between them and how it shifted. She remembered his subjugation and domination commingled with his adoration and worship, and then his surrender, imploring her to stay with him. His eyes told her he remembered it too.

Locked onto Ana's eyes and gripping her hands, Christian felt the full power of that night flooding through him too; the force of the connection they had forged indelible, never to be forgotten; the euphoria of his deliverance, a touchstone of peace these last months. Suddenly he was weightless, the crawling dread of the past two hours gone. His thoughts were clear now too, running free like a mountain brook.

“You can't go Ana. I love you.”

The words he had never expected to be able to say, not because he couldn’t, but because he was fifty shades of fucked up and no woman in her right mind would ever take him on. Ana’s declaration of her love -- it had freed him.

_And if you’re serious about keeping her you better let her know right now, otherwise she’s going to bolt out that door and out of your life forever. _

With one fluid move Christian stood up, bringing Ana with him. He cupped her face in his hands and searched her eyes, then let himself go, releasing at last his stranglehold on his pent-up love he had carried for her all these months. His words gushed like a torrent.

“Ana -- almost as soon as I met you, I knew you were special. This afternoon, when you told me that I had hurt you and that you didn’t want to see me, I damn near collapsed. The thought that you might not want to see me anymore -- it _terrified_ me. And I realized that I couldn’t force myself to deny it anymore – what I’ve known and felt since almost the beginning -- that I love you Ana. And that I’m not just in love with you, but _love_ you. That I want you to be a part of my life. Oh Ana I tell you no lies," his voice entreating now, "I’ve never said those words to any woman, never felt this way about any woman. Ever.” He stopped, his breathing the only sound in the room's silence. “And I was afraid -- that if you knew the man inside this body, if I told you the things that I need to keep him sane and functioning, that you would turn away. And I couldn’t bear it.”

The room's silence was expectant – Christian's gray eyes imploring, holding Ana prisoner to his supplication for her acceptance; and Ana, searching those eyes, trying to sort out her own emotional chaos. The words she dreamed of but never thought she would hear …

“Christian I am so scared.”

“I know. I am too.”

He wrapped his arms around her. “Tell what you’re scared of and we’ll sort it out together.” It was the familiar Christian, back in control.

But Ana wasn’t the tongue-tied girl who stood before him that morning of what seemed like a lifetime ago. She was Christian's equal now. She stepped back, putting space between them, signaling the scales had tipped.

“Christian, I know I’m young and unsophisticated and don’t have a lot of world experience, and before I met you, hadn’t had a lot of sex. I wasn’t just plain vanilla, I was painfully plain vanilla. But that doesn’t mean I lived under a rock."

"I knew really early on, that what we do in the playroom is _waay_ outside the norm. Yeah some couples like to role play and some like to rough it up a little bit, but what we do, I don’t think,” here she paused, “No I’m sure of it. I_ know_ there aren’t a lot of couples like us."

"And I know there’s something inside you makes you need this kind of sex, but I’ve never been able to figure out what it is. I’ve tried over the last six months, and I’ve got some ideas, but no proof.”

Her urgency went up a notch. “Christian I’m an average girl, in spite of what we do here. I want to get married, I want to be a mother, I want to have kids. A year ago I thought it would all be so simple. But then I fell in love with the most amazing man the likes of whom I know will never come my way again."

Fresh tears began to glitter in her eyes. “And not just because he’s rich and better looking than any man has a right to be, but because he’s kind and gentle, he’s generous and respectful. He’s funny and smart. And at the end of the day, he says he loves me and I believe him."

"But there’s something wrong with his mainspring and I don’t know what it is. And I’m afraid that when I do find out I won’t be able to do anything about it, that I won’t be able to find the path that we’ll need to be on if we’re going to be a couple, or even if I’ll be able to stay on it.”

The tears were on her face now. “Yeah Christian, I’m scared – scared that I’ll be a failure.”

Long ago, Christian had become adept at reading the signs. Sitting across boardroom tables or watching his subs struggle, to safeword or to go on, to leave or to sign, he knew the next five minutes would be the biggest gamble of his life. He drew Ana back into his arms, holding her tight against him, and tilted her head up so she could see the truth in his eyes.

“Ana I’ll be the first to admit that in the emotional department I’m still a work in progress. But I believe in us Ana, you and me together, and I believe you do too. Please, stay with me tonight. Let me show you.” His words were measured but the need was there. He waited. "I love you Ana." He waited again. "I will not touch you, I promise."

“I trust you Ana. Do you still trust me?”

“I never stopped.”

“There's so much I want to tell you,” he murmured into her hair … “so _much_ I have to tell you.”

His bedroom was in shadow, the only light coming in from the nighttime skyline through the ceiling-to-floor window. Christian pressed a wall switch and the heavy drapes silently closed. He pressed another switch; two low pools of light ignited on either side of a king-size bed.

The room was just like Christian -- quietly elegant and utterly masculine. Either he or his decorator had settled on the warm amber colors of the soft furnishings, the drapes, and the carpeting. All were of a piece with the sleek polished-maple built-in drawers and shelves, with their matching surrounds. And the lighting -- it caressed those smooth surfaces and faintly illuminated those silk threads making them glow softly like some kind of medieval tapestry. It was a room that invited either sex or rest. Tonight it was going to be rest.

“Help me turn down the covers Ana.”

They moved in unison, each taking a position on opposite sides of the bed and together folded back the duvet. Without waiting for his signal, Ana slipped off her shoes and climbed in, pulling the cover back up over her, still wearing her clothes.

She was looking straight up at the ceiling when Christian slipped in next to her. He moved in closer. “Ana please don’t take this the wrong way, but are you sure you’re not going to be too hot?”

She sat up, peeling off her sweater up over her head, flinging it to the floor and laid back down, on her side this time, face to face with those mutable gray eyes just inches away now, filled with naked longing.

“Ana please let me hold you, you said you trust me.”

Their bodies imploded.

It was full-on, legs tangled, hands buried in the other’s hair, kisses open-mouthed and greedy, taking and feeding, the physical expression of their emotional release, each finally freed from the prison of their own making. And when they broke apart, finally, they were still reeling with delirium, couldn’t keep their hands off of each other, whispering their love to one another again and again from inside the bubble of their own private rapture, so close their breaths were almost as one. They were two people in love.

“Ana, our first scene, do you remember what I said to you at the very beginning?”

_Oh Ana, now we begin._  
__

She nodded. Christian cupped her face, as he had that first time. “Ana, now we _truly_ begin.”

He kissed her, soft. And then he began, starting at the very beginning.

“When I told you I was adopted, Ana, I gave you the Cliff Notes version. I made it sound like it wasn’t that big a deal, and that it was a smooth ride, but it wasn't. It was … well, I had a pretty rough start in life.”

They were still in his bed, having plumped up the pillows and rearranged their limbs to accommodate a journey neither of them was quite sure how would end. For Christian it was familiar territory; he spent an hour each week on Dr. Flynn’s chaise; but Ana – she was in uncharted waters, no maps or compass to guide her.

They were on their sides again, face to face.

“My parents rescued me from foster care. I wound up there because my birth mother was dead, and my father – well, he was basically a black hole. No one knew who he was or where he was, and there were no other relatives. I was out there on my own, naked and bare-assed.”

“My birth mother was a drug addict, a junkie; heroin was her drug of choice. She drifted from boyfriend to boyfriend, exchanging sex for drugs and a roof over her head. Somewhere along the line she got pregnant with me but didn't let that cramp her style. She just dragged me along, bouncing from one guy to the next. Her luck,” his tone contemptuous now, “what little there was, ran out when I was five. She died of a drug overdose.”

He stopped, searching Ana for any reaction but she lay there silently, listening, letting his stream of words pour out. Maybe the enigma that was Christian Grey would start to make sense.

“When I turned 18 I asked my parents if I could see my adoption record. They told me it was mostly legal documents about the adoption, but they said the child protective services reports were pretty graphic,” here he paused, “… and there were pictures.”

_Oh Jesus, this is not going to be good._  
__

Christian turned onto his back, looking straight up as he combed through his memories.

He didn’t get the file until the summer after his freshman year and he was back at school. When it arrived he didn’t open it right away, he wanted to read it when things were quiet, and he didn’t have to think about the next day’s classes. He wanted his head to be in a calm place, so one classic-colored October weekend he turned off his phone and didn’t go out.

“There were the legal documents, just like my parents said, and they were pretty dry. The child protective services …” He paused again, searching for the words. “They showed up only because the people in the apartment next door said my crying had kept them up. In the report, the people said I cried all night long. That they banged on the door but no one answered. By dawn my crying had almost stopped but the woman was concerned. She knew something wasn’t right so she called 911. The EMTs came through the door at 6:42 AM.” He turned and gave Ana an ironic smile. “Gotta love the bureaucrat who documents the time down to the minute.”

He turned back. In his mind’s eye Christian could still see the words on the page and how his breathing had gotten tight the first time he read them. “They found a white female slumped over the end of a sofa. She had a piece of rubber tubing tied around her left arm and she was unresponsive. She was pronounced DOA. Time of death was estimated to be between 5 and 8 PM. Cause of death was …” here his words became deliberate and precise, “… acute myocardial infarction brought on by toxic levels of morphine diacetate.” Christian looked at her. “She had a heart attack Ana, after shooting herself up with some smack that was too rich for her blood.”

His eyes went back to the ceiling. “I was lying on the sofa, wearing just a tee shirt, too weak to sit up. The EMT wrote that I was still conscious, but just barely. When she lifted me up I tried to fight her but I couldn’t. The hours I had spent crying had left me exhausted. I had peed in my underpants and sometime during the night I had taken them off. They were on the floor.”

“Oh my God Christian, tell me you don’t remember this.”

Christian turned onto his side so they were face to face again. “I don’t, for the most part. Really,” his gray eyes calm. “My memories of that night Ana are so dim I can’t remember if what I recall is real or if they’re because of what I read. I do remember the crying but at some point I must of stopped, because I don’t remember anything in between until the EMT picked me up. I don’t remember seeing my mother, I sort of remember the trip to the hospital, but I do remember the examination because it was the first time I saw Grace. She was the doctor who examined me. She later told me later that she fell in love with me the minute I looked at her.” _His eyes were big and round and pleaded with her to take him._ “She couldn't get pregnant and told my dad that she wanted to adopt me. They tracked me down through the foster care system.”

He stopped. He didn’t tell her about the birth certificate that was part of the file. Is omission the same as a lie?

He was born July 26, 1981 at 2:45 in the morning -- a Leo with Gemini rising -- a powerful combination. His mother was 19, white, unmarried, and her occupation shown as “housewife” – bureaucratic code for unemployed. But it was his father’s name that caught him off guard; he didn’t expect to see it. His mother was the one who consumed him, she was the one living in his subliminal thoughts and populating his dreams. His father had never existed until that moment, when he saw his name for the first time.

Michigan was very thoughtful in that its birth certificates provided Social Security numbers. Years later, when the file lay resting untouched in a safety deposit box, and the Internet offered up data and information that was unthinkable just 10 years earlier, for the hell of it, he looked up his father’s SSN on the Social Security “Death Index” (He had already looked up his mother’s and yes it confirmed that she was dead. At the age of 24; a short, wasted life.) He was surprised when he found a match. His father died in 1991, 38 years old. It was the Internet again that finally yielded up the last piece of the puzzle. His father died in the Central Michigan Correctional Facility, serving a term of 12 to 20 with 18 months off for good behavior, for breaking and entering, armed robbery, assault and battery, and accessory to 2nd degree murder.

He died from complications of AIDS. Christian remembered feeling as if he had been gut-shot when he read that. He had come from trash.

Ana waited, and in the silence moved closer to him. Without thinking, she slid her knee between his legs and without thinking, Christian reached out and pulled her hips to him, instinctively pressing her thigh into that part of him that defined his maleness. If he couldn’t take her at this moment, he could still remind her that he was capable.

With their faces just inches apart and their legs entwined, Ana couldn’t help herself. Images and memories flooded over her and she could feel her arousal starting, heavy in her, as her mind flashed back to those early nights in the playroom. There were times after they had both cum, after Christian had stimulated and aroused her to a series of climaxes that shattered her, that they would lay in this same position, loose and soft, their eyes on each other. Christian would draw her face toward him and kiss her softly on the mouth, his kiss tender but proprietary. “This is what I can do to you,” it said, “and I do it because you are mine.”

“I don't have a lot of memories of her Ana, which might be a blessing, because I can't remember a single good thing about her. I was just an afterthought, something that you walked around, over, or through while you hunted down your next fix.” After thirty years the bitterness was still there, a dormant virus leaking its steady drip of toxins into his soul. Small wonder he saw Dr. Flynn every Wednesday; it was the antidote he needed if he was going to stop the corrosion that would eat away his humanity if he let it.

Ana pressed her hand against his chest.

“That’s when you got your scars, isn’t it.” She was careful, her memory of his discomfort when she had first asked about them and his sharp rebuttal, still fresh.

Christian covered her hand with his. “Yes.”

“My birth mother's boyfriends were indifferent to me for the most part. As long as I didn't get in their way or bother them or be a nuisance they were OK. But there was one guy who wasn't down with me at all. His name was Ray and for some reason my presence on this planet pissed him off. He would wave his cigarette around me and said he was going to put it out on me if I didn't behave. When he was high or drunk he would come after me with my mother's curling iron. My mother was usually high or drunk with him.”

“He scared the shit out of me.”

Christian stopped again but it for Ana it was enough, the unspoken words finally confirming what she had long suspected. It was abuse, and the scars were burns. There must have been pictures in his file. _No wonder he didn’t want to talk about it … to re-live it again, how it felt … the pain, the shock, the bewilderment and fear … Jesus, the fear that a five-year-old would have endured! …_  
__

“Christian, I am _so sorry_ I ever asked.”

“It’s OK Ana,” his gray eyes reassuring her it was.___  
___

The space between fell silent again, waiting to be filled. Ana’s thoughts raced around in its emptiness, debating, bouncing back and forth. _Be careful what you ask for Ana. Do you really want to know? Do you?_

_Is the Pope Catholic, Ana?_

“Will you tell me about Elena?”

“What do you want to know?”

“How did you begin?”___  
___

Christian turned onto his back and his words began flowing again. “I was doing some grunt work at her house, moving stuff in her backyard that was too heavy for her to lift. It was stinking hot and I was pissed that my father had told me that I had to help her. She came outside and told me that I wasn’t doing something right, and I made some smart-assed comment and out of the blue she just slapped me. Then she grabbed my face and kissed me, and I mean _really_ kissed me, tongue-halfway-down-my-throat kissed me. And then she slapped me again. Then she just turned around and went back into the house. I’m like shit! … _what the fuck_ just happened? I didn’t see her again until I told her I was leaving for the day. She acted as if nothing had happened and told me to come back the next day because she had some more work for me to do.” He paused, and when he picked up the thread his voice went soft with the memory. “So I did. I went back. When she let me in, she closed the door behind me, took my hand, and without a word took me into her bedroom.” He turned and looked at Ana. “And that’s how we began.”

Elena undid his belt and pulled it out and dropped it on the floor. He started to reach for her but froze when she stopped him with a sharp “No.” He got the message. She stepped back and unbuttoned the front of her dress and pushed it off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

Christian had pored over the photos in Playboy and Penthouse countless times; the women’s bodies on an endless loop that played inside his head. And during the summer he had mentally, ceaselessly, undressed the girls at the country club pool, fantasizing about their cunts. But this was the first time he had seen a grown woman’s flesh so close. He was startled to see that her bra and panties were Victoria’s Secret and not JC Penney. Her panties, sheer and low on her hips, offered up strategically placed patches of lace that cunningly concealed but forced you to look. Her middle was flat and her waist indented. Her slim legs were toned. Her tits -- lifted, cupped and caressed by her brassiere, were amazing.

She stepped toward him and unbuttoned his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders. “Take off your shoes.” Christian bent over, yanking off each one, his eyes never leaving hers. When he stood up, she unbuttoned his jeans. She slipped a hand inside his waistband to pull down his fly, the back of it pressing against his erection. Christian was paralyzed. His heart was pounding and his veins were surging with fear, excitement, and tension – a trifecta that he would soon learn to love and would induce on all his partners. “Take off your pants.” Christian started to tug them down over his thighs, bending his head to do so. “No!” He froze and looked up, deer in the headlights. Elena lifted his chin, then with a single finger, pointed to her face. “Never take your eyes off of me.” He promptly obeyed. But the image of that elegant finger, its end punctuated by a shaped, red polished nail, was imprinted on his brain forever. Later, much later, that finger would find its way into his body and with her mouth, or sometimes her hand, would crucify him with pleasure.

His jeans around his ankles, Elena nodded for him to step out of them. The only thing left was his shorts. Elena barely grazed the back of her hand over the front his imprisoned, tortured cock before slipping them off, caressing his ass and hips along the way. His erection was rock hard and pointing toward the stratosphere. He was vulnerable and exposed, but the line ran true. The chrysalis that was his youth was cracking and out of it the first semblance of his true soul began to emerge. Christian looked at her unflinchingly, his eyes gray and steady.

Elena stepped back. Christian hadn’t reached his full height, but his muscles had kept pace with his growth, and the gangly skinniness that afflicted some boys as they waited for their flesh to catch up with their new frame was not his fate. The outline of his maturity was already there and one could see the gift of his latent male beauty. “My god you are beautiful.” It would be the first of numberless times he was to hear women say those words.

She moved in close to him, demolishing any boundary of personal space. When she put her hand between his legs and caressed his ball sac his knees almost buckled. Elena stepped back and reached around to unhook her bra. The straps fell over her shoulders, finally showing him her breasts. Christian’s eyes broke from hers in an act of unconscious disobedience, helpless in his desire. He was desperate to feel the weight of one in his hands, to fill his mouth with its flesh, to tongue it, taste it, suckle at it, to fix the memory of its texture and heat on his mouth and tongue forever.

_Jesus! This is too much! This woman, an adult, seduces a 15-year-old-boy and then does things to him that no teenager should experience!_ “Christian, you _know_ that was rape!”

“In the eyes of the law, yes it was. But honestly, Ana, I never thought so.”__  
__

Ana was stunned. _He actually thinks what happened to him was OK?_

“I know it’s hard to reconcile, but Ana, you don’t know what it’s like …. By the time I was 15 my brain was hard-wired for sex. I had a perpetual hard-on and was thinking about sex 24-7. It’s normal behavior Ana. That’s the way we men are. Some of us just start a little earlier.”

“And Ana, I’m glad Elena was my first one.”___  
___

Anastasia’s mouth and eyes formed an involuntary “O” of shock and dismay, and Christian closed in to stop the words he knew were coming. He put his hand on her cheek, his mouth inches from hers. It was the seductive Christian, the one who used tender coercion to exert control. His thumb began a rhythmic caress and his voice dropped, soothing and soft. “Ana, Elena taught me about a woman’s body. She showed me all your places that bring you pleasure, and all the ways I can reach them to make it happen.”___  
___

That body betrayed her, unbidden, instinctively recalling those places, and Christian’s patient tutoring of them … his fingers and cock on and in her while his voice coaxed her … his phallic tongue stroking her deep inside her mouth, just like his cock between her legs… always together … Arousal rose through her, fast and sharp. _NO! This has got to stop!_ Angry with herself, Ana struck back._____  
_____

“She taught you how to fuck.” She practically spat out the last word.

“Yes she did,” his tone matter-of-fact now. He was not making any apologies. “And as I recall, you really like the way I fuck.”

Point Christian Grey.___  
___

“And the beatings?” _Ah yes, the beatings._

“Yes, she beat me. She beat the shit out of me. But it was consensual. She never forced me. I let her beat me.”

Christian’s decision to give himself over to Elena was always his. They both knew that. His sexual obedience was a gift, not a surrender. He gave her his strength and his power willingly, and then opened himself to her, letting her see his vulnerability, exposed. In return, Elena recognized the trust he was giving her and vowed never to abuse it.

It was a relationship based on trust and openness, an irony that outsiders had trouble processing. But Christian didn’t care, he felt safe in his submission to Elena. She teased and denied him to the point where his release no longer mattered and he could ride his edge. Her arousal and punishment of his body opened up new pathways, and he learned to connect objects of pain with excitement and visceral pleasure. And even when he fell short, Christian knew Elena would not abandon him, emotionally, physically, or mentally. When she hit him, he didn’t wonder why or where he stood in their relationship, but rather, knew that this was the way it was supposed to be.

But Christian was not a true submissive and Elena realized it very early on. Christian's real nature was to lead, and Elena could see that the qualities that would help him reach a place where he could do so – the ego, ambition, intelligence, and willingness to work for it – were already in place. But Christian was new to submission and had no idea what to expect, and Elena was a skilled Dominant, not only in the art of how to arouse and deny, but also in the delicate task of gaining and keeping her subs’ trust. So she took his juvenile lust and incoherent yearning for order and direction, and molded them together, slowly and carefully to the point where he wasn’t afraid and was willing to explore the new possibilities she could show him. Christian gave himself over to her, unknown to either of them at the time that he would be one of her most memorable partners.

“Christian, there was _no way_ it could be consensual! You were still a _teenager!_ How could you even begin to know what you wanted?”____  
____

“Ana life isn’t black and white. It’s fifty shades of gray, remember?” Christian’s tone was clipped now, a flash of the alpha Christian who would not be guilt-tripped or shamed. Any wrongdoing would be acknowledged on his terms.

"Ana," his edge abruptly softening, “My relationship with Elena was … complicated, but when I became her sub I swear to God my world changed. And not like you think. It became sharp and clear. I could focus.”___  
___

Christian's face was still inches from hers when he began in earnest. “When I was little Ana, my parents and teachers were always telling me how smart I was and how good I was going to be. But I never really believed it. I was angry and I started acting out. By the time I was fourteen I was spinning out of control. I was fighting, drinking, drugging -- I was a gutter punk and driving my parents to despair.”

“Elena changed all that. When I became her sub the confusion stopped. Submission gave me boundaries … structure … predictability. And when I was inside those boundaries I felt secure. It was what I needed. I stopped getting high. I stopped fighting the world. I doubled down on my schoolwork. I decided I wanted to go to an Ivy League college and started putting in the hours to get the grades. My relationship with Elena made that happen.”___  
___

Ana was incredulous. “You never believed that you would have succeeded without her?”

“I don’t know,” Christian’s words matter-of-fact now. “All I do know is that after I gave myself to her, I changed.”

Now the silence between them was a double-edge sword.___  
___

“Ana, I know this is hard for you …,” Christian touching her cheek again. “But Ana, this is who I am.”___  
___

Finally, Ana had the truth, Christian's past _was_ dark and complicated and maybe had even crossed some lines. _If I told you the things I need to keep sane and functioning, you would turn away. And I couldn’t bear it._ And whatever he'd experienced had become an indelible part of what made him tick. The extraordinary things she was hearing, she _knew_ he had never revealed to any of his partners. She had to know more if their relationship was going to have even a snowball's chance. 

“And I’m still here. If you can talk Christian, I can listen.” _And I promise not to judge._  
__

The space between them got quiet again.

“While you were at Harvard did you still see Elena?” She felt like a dog gnawing at a bone but couldn’t help herself.

“No.”

Technically it was the truth. Elena never visited him there. He would see her back in Grosse Pointe when he went home, more out of habit though than because of desire. By the beginning of his senior year it was over.

“Did you have any girlfriends at college?”

“I had a few.” A sly grin made its way up to his eyes.

_Of course he did! He must have had them throwing their panties at him!_  
__

“Did you sleep with them?”

“Some of them.”__  
__

“Was it normal?” _Oh god did that sound stupid._" I mean, was the sex vanilla?”____  
____

“Yes it was.”___  
___

The gray eyes got serious. “Ana, it didn’t end when I went to Cambridge. I had vanilla girlfriends but they were beards.” Her eyes quizzed him. “They were disguises. I was still having rough sex. I couldn’t let anyone know what I was doing, so I used them to keep up appearances. No one ever knew that I spent a lot of weekends,” … Christian paused, searching for the right words to parse the truth. “… no one knew that I was keeping company with 40-year-old women who liked it rough.”

In Boston he was perfecting his technique, learning how to find women who were willing to be his sub, learning how to groom them. He cruised the Personals and discovered a regular scene.

Out of nowhere, Ana's mind replayed the moment when she signed the nondisclosure agreement. “Aren’t you ever worried, that one of those women might talk …that some tabloid will find out about your past?”

“Not really. I was always very careful. I never, _ever_ used my real name. I was always Jack, or Peter, or if I was being really obnoxious, Tyler.”

He was lying. He never used those names. He always introduced himself as Jamie the preppy trust fund baby, whose still-growing body showed the promise of the beautifully sculpted flesh it would become, but whose hands, mouth, and cock, wise beyond their years, could already make women weep with pleasure.

“Tyler! Oh my god Christian, that’s such a corny name!”

“I told you I only used it when I was being obnoxious.”

“And what about Wharton?”

“What about it?”

Ana hesitated. “The women, was it more of the same?”

“The same what Ana?” _She had to come to grips with who he was._

“The rough sex.”

No lies, omissions or technicals this time. “Yes, it was more of the same. And it was the only sex I had.”

By Philadelphia his tastes had hardened and he moved it up into another gear. He found out about a circuit, a group of people who were like him, and who valued discretion. They lived along the East Coast, a mixed bag of elite professionals and ordinary time clock punchers. In Miami they were plastic surgeons’ wives with rock hard tits and smooth faces that never creased, even when they were crying out his name as their cunts gripped his cock while he emptied himself inside of them. In Charleston there was a woman, blond, beautiful, well-groomed in that way indigenous to Southern girls. She wanted to introduce him to her circle of friends, but he declined. He didn’t want to run the risk of becoming notorious; anonymity was his protection. Washington, D.C. was a minefield; too many women who were either too close to the spotlight or were friends with people who were. He had much better luck in Baltimore. Baltimore was gray and dismal and it was easy to be anonymous. His sub there was Robin, a first year resident at Hopkins. Robin was not intrinsically intuitive or empathic, she lived her life through her five senses, which is why she was probably willing to be his sub. Already sexually knowing, she was unafraid of being helpless, no matter which orifice he chose to punish, knowing that her reward would be the deep, powerful climaxes he brought her to.

Ana closed her eyes and rolled onto her back, exhaling a sigh of exhaustion along the way. Christian could see her body visibly wilt. _The truth is taking its toll._ She must have read his mind because she started rubbing her forehead, pressing her palms against it, as if trying to erase some part of the last hour.

“Head hurt?” How could it not, after what she had just heard.

Ana shook her head. She opened her eyes and turned to look at him.

“Christian this has been …” Ana scoured her brain for the genteel words and couldn’t find them, so just blurted it out. “… this has been the most _fucked up_ week of my life. You weren’t the only one who collapsed. When I saw myself in the mirror Sunday night I did too, only I made it to the floor.”__  
__

_"Oh Jesus ..."_ he murmured under his breath. He closed his eyes and when he opened them was confronted by a pair of steely blue ones. "Jesus didn't have anything to do with it Christian." He braced himself for whatever was coming next.____  
____

“Christian when I got here tonight I was practically sick with fatigue because my heart was breaking. I haven’t been able to sleep since Sunday night, and all week long I’ve been crying my eyes out. I haven’t been able to eat either and tonight I don’t know if you were aware of it, but when I got here I was sick! I threw up!” Ana could hear her voice rising but didn’t stop it. She was angry and wanted him to know it.

“Then you tell me that you love me and always have and I’m -- I’m in total disbelief! I can't believe it! because I never thought you would ever fall in love with me. And then I realize, no it is true, you do love me. But instead of being out of mind with happiness I'm terrified because I know that I'm not even in your league and I’m so scared that I won't be able to make this work. And then --some of the things you’ve just told me -- like about you and Elena -- Christian I can't even begin to get my head around that stuff."

“Christian, I’m a wreck.”___  
___

Ana I’m _so sorry_." His voice low and laced with pain, his eyes anguished. “I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted to cause you pain. And I never _ever_ thought that you were less than my equal. If I ever made you feel that way ... oh Ana can you start to forgive me?"

His plea jolted her.

_Girl, what the hell are you doing?_ Christian had just opened himself to her and given her his trust, maybe for the first time since Elena, and what did she just do? Paid him back with an ugly put-down and self-indulgent rant. Ana felt small and almost sick with shame; her misery had lasted just five days, Christian had lived with his demons practically all his life. She was eaten up with even more self-doubt now.

“Oh Christian, there’s nothing to forgive you for!” She was the one pleading now. "There never was. I'm the one who needs to ask forgiveness. I'm so ashamed of what I said ... it was mean and hurtful and just so wrong and disrespectful. I know this isn't an excuse but I'm raw and sore and saying stupid things I don't mean. Can you forgive me?"

"With all my heart my beautiful girl."

Ana almost wept with thanks.

They fell silent now, words no longer needed, no more forgiveness to be asked for or given. They were together.

“Christian, I’m exhausted … I need to sleep ... can we turn out the lights and go to sleep?”

"Yes we can."

“And I want us to sleep together. I don’t care if it’s in this bed or mine, but if it’s mine you’re going to have to carry me there because I can’t move.”___  
___

Christian picked up her hand and kissed her palm; both remembering the first time he had done so. “We’ll sleep here. But I still want to hold you.”

“I think I’d like that.”

“Big spoon or little spoon?”

“Little spoon.”___  
___

“Can I use one of your spare robes to can sleep in?” She was thinking about his stash of yukatas. He had introduced her to them during their first weekend together and she had immediately fallen in love with the garment. It was basically all she wore, sleeping in it, wearing it after her shower, before and after a scene. That’s how she discovered Christian kept a mini-stockpile of them on hand. He had them custom-made by a small shop in Tokyo. The man had style to spare.___  
___

“Of course.” Christian jumped out of bed, going over to a riser of built-in drawers. He pulled one out and swept his hand over its contents, like a merchant offering his wares to a Lady of the Carriage Trade.

“And what would please Miss Steele tonight?”

Ana threw back the cover, welcoming the sudden jolt of cool air, and joined him.

She looked inside the drawer.___  
___

The robes were all identical – dark blue stripes on a white background, each garment neatly folded. Ana shot him a tired grin.

“Mr. Grey, I cannot decide. Would you please choose for me?”

“It will be my pleasure,” his eyes and face filling with it, overjoyed to see his Ana smiling again, even if it was a small one.___  
___

Christian whipped out a robe and shook out its crisp folds, cotton fabric billowing, and held it up for her. Ana turned her back to him and unzipped her jeans, pushing them down to her ankles. She stepped out of them, unaware Christian’s eyes had dropped, silently searching for any marks on her beautiful ass, showcased now in a pair of sheer panties. He could find none. The tee came next. Ana pulled it over her head, baring her back, Christian finally able to see the remnants of his handiwork -- ugly, fading greenish-yellow blotches.___  
___

He was gutted.

He dipped his head, penitent, silently pressing his lips against one of them. Ana didn't acknowledging his touch, instead slipped her arms into the waiting sleeves and wordlessly let him pass her the sash.

He was watching her sleep, on her side, her back turned towards him. She had dropped off almost as soon as he had turned off the lights and hadn’t budged since. Her shoulders were barely moving and her breathing was soundless. From his own bouts of insomnia Christian knew that thunder wouldn’t wake her. Ana literally was dead to the world.

It had taken longer for his sleep to come and when he did it had been only fitful. But he was wide awake now and his brain was churning. 

Tonight had been a miracle for him. For the first time ever, Christian could see himself making a life with someone; something he had never believed it would happen for him.

Anastasia Steele –- her name couldn’t be more perfect. From the start he could see her inner strength --it was what had attracted and kept him, and the part of her he loved best.

And if he had been in love with her before tonight, he was even more in love with her now. Unafraid, tonight she had told him what she wanted, not knowing if that’s what he wanted too, having given her so little to hang a hope on. She didn’t ignore the rough sledding ahead of them either, and was brave enough to admit she just might not be up to it. But she loved and trusted him. She was fearless.

And it was going to be rough. Tonight he had edited his past, leaving out pieces of himself he wasn’t ready to share. But even with the sanitized version Christian could see it alarmed Ana. Losing your virginity at the age of 15 to a Dominatrix and then being her naked sub for two years earned a triple-X rating, plus probably damned his soul to perdition. Not that he cared. But he cared for Ana. Her apprehension about his sexual past and her misgivings and self-doubt about her youth and inexperience -- they were legitimate and couldn't be ignored. 

Christian Grey was not about despair. They could be a couple, it would work out.

_I’ll make it work out, it has to._  
__

He glanced at the bedside clock. It was only three and he knew sleep wouldn’t come again until just before dawn. He got out of bed.

The nightime sky was giving way to blue-gray light when Christian finally snapped shut the laptop and tidied up his desk, dousing the lamp. He and the room were in shadows now. He padded into the kitchen and set the timer on the coffee maker, his last stop before the bedroom.

The room was encased in almost total darkness; Christian had to wait for his eyes to adjust. He pressed the wall switch and let the drapes slip open just enough to see. A column of gray pre-dawn light picked her out. Ana was still asleep, on her other side now, facing the window. Her clothes were still in piles, untouched from where she had dropped them, but her bra and panties – two small delicate slips of fabric - they were on the bed, along with the cotton robe. Sometime during the night while he was gone she had taken them off. Christian knew she was naked under the duvet and felt himself getting hard. _Oh Christ! _

Ana stirred under the covers, the light toying with her sleep. Christian pulled his tee over his head and ditched his sweats. He had promised no sex but had to take the chance. He slipped into bed naked, next to her, looking at her, not touching. And prayed.

Ana opened her eyes. _Christian!_ He was awake and looking at her, his head and shoulders back-lit by a thin shaft of early morning sunlight. _How long has he been here?_ "Good morning Ana." Before she could react, while she was still half asleep and gathering her wits about her, Christian leaned in to kiss her, his mouth soft and full. Ana’s eyes and mouth lit up with a slow smile. “Good morning Christian.” He found her hand moved it to his hip, leaving it there, revealing his nakedness.

Her eyes said yes.

Their sex was straightforward, nothing fancy, just plain vanilla. When he sliped into her Ana closed her eyes and let out an involuntary ah, telling him that she welcomed him, and when he was finally inside her felt at peace, grateful that she would have him. His pace was slow and easy, content with the simplicity of their connection, his eyes never leaving hers. He felt transparent, the compulsive needs of the playroom left behind. His voice, another erotic tool, went missing too, replaced by the wordless eloquence of his body, offering respect for the gift she was giving him. When he could see her urgency building though, he couldn’t help himself. He became demanding, reared up on his knees and pulled her hips toward him, her legs on his shoulders, his cock insistent now, and when he could stand it no more, found his voice, hoarse and on the edge. “Cum for me Ana!” She did, and in that brief shard of time before his own release, Christian silently gave thanks to this miraculous girl who soothed his hurt, calmed his fears, and restored his soul.


End file.
